The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(85)

He shepherded his aunt and cousins toward the front door where Bristow took over. Matt stalked off, much to Lady Rycroft's disgust. "Ill-bred American," she muttered. "I don't know why we come here."

"So one of us can catch his interest." Hope didn't even bother to speak quietly or hide the bitterness in her voice. "I'm afraid your plan is a resounding failure, Mama. Cousin Matthew barely even knows we exist. He's much too preoccupied with another matter. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Steele?"

"Good day," I said, picking up my skirts and following Matt. I caught up to him on the landing between the first and second floor, but only after exerting myself more than my corset allowed. "Slow down, Matt," I puffed out.

He did, but did not stop.

"This is not the sort of information we can pass on to Brockwell," I said to his broad back.

"No."

"Then what do you plan on doing?"

"Confronting Pitt."

"Isn't that too dangerous?"

"That's why you're not going."

"I most certainly am if you are."

He finally stopped and rounded on me. "Stay here," he growled.

I straightened my spine. "If I hadn't been with you in the carriage, you would be dead. If you hadn't been in the carriage, I would be dead. It seems we make a good team. Teams should not split up or they become weaker."

He humphed, turned again and marched off to his room.

"Where are you going?" I called after him.

"To use my watch. Then we're going to see Pitt."

We? So he had relented. But dear lord, if his temper got any worse he'd explode. I just hoped he held it in check until we confronted Pitt. If not, the nearest person would be in his line of fire—me.



Without a coachman to drive us, we decided to catch a hackney to Pitt's shop. Yesterday's attack must have been as fresh in Matt's mind as mine because he bundled me into the cab with unceremonious haste. I only managed to stay upright because he caught me.

"I can't believe you talked me into bringing you," he said, pulling the curtains closed.

He seemed to be spoiling for an argument so I did not respond. He edged aside the curtain and peered through the gap. His fingers drummed on his knee and then his knee itself jiggled. The plodding horses weren't fast enough for him.

I couldn't stand it for more than a few seconds. "Calm down, Matt."

His icy gaze slid to me. "I am calm." His knee stopped jiggling, but only for a moment before it resumed.

I tried to ignore it. I tried looking out of my window but he growled at me to keep the curtain closed. Well! It was fine for him to peer through a gap but not me, it seemed. I checked my watch, and checked it again five minutes later. It felt like a very long drive.

"We need to discuss what happened," he finally said.

I let out my pent up breath. "Thank goodness! I agree. So Pitt is the magician we've been looking for all along. His exclusive customers don't know he's using magic in his medicines, of course, although Coyle probably does. I suppose the magic lasts long enough in some bottles to have an effect on headaches and the like. But why would Mr. Pitt murder his business partner? His motive eludes me. Any thoughts?"

His dry laugh held no humor. "You win, India."

"Win?"

"We'll discuss the case." He squared his shoulders and sat up straighter. The cabin felt smaller, the air close. "Pitt's weapon of choice may be magic poison, but he might not be averse to using more violent means if we confront him. We need to approach this very carefully and gently."

"I'm quite capable of being gentle, but are you, at the moment?"

"I'm fine," he said, part pout, part defiance.

"You'll need to be at your most charming. Your present state is a little fierce. It wouldn't do to get angry with him and blurt out our suspicions. We need to trick him into confessing."

"I can manage," he ground out.

"See what I mean? Fierce."

The coach stopped and I took my watch out of my reticule and clutched it tightly.

"Wait here," Matt ordered the coachman as he alighted. He scanned the vicinity then kept me close as we traversed the few steps from the carriage to the shop door.

It was locked. A sign on the door said Mr. Pitt would be back soon. Matt knocked but there was no answer. He swore under his breath.

"Cover me," he said.

"Pardon?"

"Stand there and shield me from view. I'm breaking in."

"Matt!"

But he was already fidgeting with the door, inserting two slender tools like needles into the lock. It clicked open. He entered, tucking the tool back into his pocket.

"You must teach me how to do that," I said, following.

I shut the door behind us. The shop was dim but not completely dark, and once my eyes adjusted, I could walk through it without bumping into things.

"Check the medicines behind the counter for magic," Matt said. He inspected the countertop then bent to look in the drawers and cupboards underneath.

I rounded the counter and skimmed my hands across the bottles and jars on the rear wall. They all felt normal, not warm. I opened the back door and peered into the workshop. The scent wafting out was even stronger than in the shop. It clung to the roof of my mouth and clogged my throat. The tight space of the workshop contained a bench, stool, and dozens of small drawers stretching almost to the ceiling down one length of wall. Shelves on the other wall held bottles, pots and jars of all sizes and shapes. Their magical warmth drifted toward me as if on a breeze and my watch pulsed in response. I touched a dozen or so bottles to make sure.